


Le Grand Lycée du Paris

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: 'Chetta and 'Ponine are friends also, Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bahorel is an unorganized mess, But so is everyone else, Combeferre is a nerd, Combeferre likes moths, Enjolras does not like this school, F/F, F/M, Gay, Grantaire does art, He doesn't deserve this, He wants to go home, I apologize in advance, Jolllly, Joly is a nervous mess, M/M, Moths, Multi, Musichetta and Enjolras are friends okay, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Poor Joly, Poor Éponine, School food sucks, They really shouldn't be roommates, Trans Courfeyrac, Trans Male Character, and a raging lesbian, and doesn't pay attention in class, ayyyy covid quarantine is /fun/, because, but hey, constantly, different POV, feelings are hard, i also like moths, i think prouvaire is nonbinary or something, i'm on break, less yay, me knowing very little about french school system, of course he does, she's so in love, so I write, so i can update this okay?, so yeah they're at a boarding high school in paris, that's about it, we stan them anyway, why not, yay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:35:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23546992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: High school is a harrowing adventure for anyone, but it's even worse when you're the new kid at a school where most students have attended sincecours préparatoire.Or someone whose been begging to not be sent back every year, only to be, you guessed it, sent back because you're such a headache for your parents. Or a hypochondriac and neat freak stuck with the messiest roommate on the planet. Or just a teenage girl with a nose for trouble and an eye for someone who will never notice you. Or... or anyone, really. Yeah. High school is problematic.
Relationships: (one-sided? probably), Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Cosette Fauchelevent & Éponine Thénardier, Cosette Fauchelevent/Marius Pontmercy, Cosette Fauchelevent/Éponine Thénardier, Grantaire/Enjolras (eventually maybe or maybe just one sided), Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta, Musichetta & Enjolras, Musichetta & Éponine Thénardier, sorry grantaire
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	1. moth in the boys' bathroom

**Author's Note:**

> High school _is_ problematic! I confirm!  
> Anyway, I hope you tolerate this at the least.  
> I try.
> 
> The POV will change throughout the story.  
> It's Teen and Up because there might be one or two curse words every now and again.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there's a moth  
> in the boys' bathroom  
> there's also a combeferre  
> and feelings make no sense

**_Le Grand Lycée du Paris_ **

_Vivianne de Courfeyrac_

_Room #28_

_Roommate: Musichetta Durand_

Courfeyrac sighed, tucking his room assignment sheet into his jeans pocket. Now, if he could only manage to find the room without getting lost, he’d never have to look at that blasted paper again.

Not getting lost, however, was a tall order. The winding hallways of the school seemed to stretch on endlessly in every single direction known to man, and possibly a few unknown directions. Courfeyrac discovered several vacant offices, a couple empty classrooms, and what looked to be a moth fluttering into the boys’ bathroom.

He was just rounding the corner after that last discovery when he rammed straight into another body also turning that same corner.

“I am so sorry, are you alright, did you get hurt?” the tall boy with glasses babbled nervously, waving his hands about like a stricken bird. “I’m so sorry.”

Courfeyrac shook his head and picked up the duffel bag he had dropped in the impact. “No harm here,” he replied, coupled with his classic First-Impressions grin.

The boy returned the smile, though his was more of a nervous Don’t-Hate-Me-Forever one. “Good. That’s good.” He scratched the back of his neck and pushed up his glasses, before suddenly seeming to remember social protocol.

“Jean-Christophe. I’m… yeah, I’m Jean-Christophe Combeferre. My… friends? well, everyone, really, calls me just plain Combeferre,” he said, sticking his hand straight out. Courfeyrac shook it, tilting his head to one side.

“Nice to meet you, Combeferre. I’m Vivi—” He paused abruptly. What was he to say here?

“Vivien?” Luckily, Combeferre decided for him. Courfeyrac nodded. Vivien. He could live with that.

“Yeah. Vivien Courfeyrac. You can call me Courfeyrac if you’d like. The whole last names thing adds an air of professionalism, don’t you think?” This got a small laugh out of Combeferre, and he seemed to visibly relax, putting one hand on his hip.

“Sure.” He paused, looking around the corridor. “Hey, have you seen a moth? About… yea big—” he spread his fingers apart in an estimation of the size “—and a sort of brown-gold color?”

“Yeah, I saw it fly into that bathroom back there,” Courfeyrac answered, gesturing back behind him with his thumb. At hearing that, Combeferre visibly brightened, and started to jog towards the bathroom. “Thanks Courfeyrac!” he called back.

Courfeyrac nodded, then started to follow the other boy. What the heck, and why not. This Combeferre might have friend potential, and God knows Courfeyrac will need all the friends he can get, based on his older sister’s horror stories of _lycée_.

He discovered Combeferre standing on a toilet in the bathroom, frantically trying to catch the moth in his cupped hands. It was quite a sight.

“You need help?” Courfeyrac called up, startling the taller boy, who almost fell off the toilet.

“No thanks, I’ve almost—” He reached out suddenly and snagged the moth. “Got it!” With a grin, he hopped down from his perch, and moved towards Courfeyrac, hands still cupped. “It’s my pet _Adela albicinctella_ , Adrienne.” He opened his hands ever so slightly, inviting Courfeyrac to look at the moth within. “See?”

Courfeyrac peered in, then nodded before looking back up at Combeferre. “Y’know, I’ve never met someone with a pet moth before.”

Combeferre grinned. “Well, now you have. Hope it’s not a disappointment.” He glanced at a watch on his wrist and smiled apologetically at Courfeyrac. “I’ve gotta go put Adrienne back in her enclosure and then meet my new science teacher to ask him something. See you around?”

For some odd reason, that normal, regular, truly sincere question put Courfeyrac off his guard, something he wasn’t at all used to. As he nodded and Combeferre walked off backwards, waving and then frantically recapturing the moth he let out in that wave, Courfeyrac started to ponder. What was it about that boy? Maybe Courfeyrac never had friends before, and so the experience of having one was odd. No, that can’t be it. He’s had friends, loads of them. In fact, he was extremely popular in _collège_. So this feeling with Combeferre must be something else. Well, that’ll be a trouble for a different day.

He shrugged and walked off to find someone who could direct him to this room 28 he was allegedly supposed to be living in. Let the adventure begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's what an _Adela albincinctella_ looks like.  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Adela_albicinctella#/media/File:Adela_albicinctella_BE-MK-7-287a.jpg


	2. who am i? who are you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> musichetta and enjolras, meet courfeyrac

“Good on university applications, my arse!” Enjolras shouted, hanging backwards off of Musichetta’s bed. “I assure you, they sent me back here as an early birthday present to my mother. She’s been complaining about me for _ages_! And for what? For trying to have honest conversations with her about the state of society!”

His friend sighed and patted him condescendingly on the head. Sometimes when Enjolras got into one of these moods, the best thing to do was let him rant until he eventually got bored and went off to plan a protest or suchlike. Musichetta had learned, after seven years of knowing the boy, and one unfortunate argument in _cinquième_ that had led to the two of them not speaking to each other for a solid week, that this was the best way.

After Enjolras had finished his tirade, he huffed and sat back up. This break allowed Musichetta to finally get a word in edgewise. “So, you got a new roommate this year, didn’t you?”

She could immediately tell, by the fire that lights in her friend’s eyes, that he, firstly, didn’t like this new roommate, and, secondly, would proceed to tell her all about it.

“Yes!” Enjolras cried, fluffing his hair and looking distraught. “I swear to God, I have never seen such an annoying kid. I have no clue where he popped from, seeing as I’ve never noticed him at school before though he insists he’s been here for years, but I suspect that it was the deepest, darkest circle of Hell!”

“Aw, Enj, perhaps that’s a bit too strong?” Musichetta cut in, grabbing one of her pillows from underneath his legs. He was about to pout and start complaining again when a knock at the door startled them both.

“Speak of the devil, this must be my own roommate,” Musichetta said and hopped up off her bed. “ _Don’t_ be rude to her,” she added, fixing Enjolras, who followed her, with a steely glare.

She opened the door, and was greeted by a nervous-looking boy with wild curls and two duffel bags weighing down his arms. “Hi, is this room 28?” he asked, looking at her and then Enjolras behind her. “Musichetta Durand?”

Musichetta slowly nodded, unsure as to why the boy was there. “Wait, are they doing co-ed dorms this year?” Enjolras asked, sounding alarmed. He looked alarmed, too, when Musichetta turned around to share a surprised look with him.

“Um, this is room 28, right?” the boy piped up, taking a few steps forward. “My paper says I’m supposed to be here.”

“Vivianne?” Musichetta asked, remembering the name from her own dorm assignment slip.

The boy looked uncomfortable, and his face turned a bright scarlet. “Kind of…? Vivien, more like.”

Enjolras let out a knowing “Ohhh, I get it,” and elbowed Musichetta in the back. “‘Chetta, let this fine young man in. He’s right.” He smiled at the shorter boy as he said this, before moving his friend out of the way. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Vivien. I’m René Enjolras. You can just call me Enjolras. All my friends do.”

“Oh. Hey, Enjolras, then. Uh, you can call me Courfeyrac. Is going by last names something popular here?” the boy asked, putting his duffel bags down on the second bed in the room and casting a nervous glance at Musichetta, who still appeared confused.

“Yeah, sometimes. Well, it’s a thing my friends do, at least. There’s me, Joly, Bossuet— hah, Musichetta here knows those two all too well. Then there’s Combeferre, …” He cited some more names, before realizing that Courfeyrac was looking at him with eyebrows raised.

“Combeferre? I think I met him. The one with the moth?”

Enjolras laughed. “That’s Combeferre alright.”

“Enj, what’s going on?” Musichetta whispered to Enjolras. Her friend gave Courfeyrac a bright grin before turning to whisper back to her, “Clearly your roommate here is more comfortable being Vivien, and who are we to argue? He seems nice.”

With that, Musichetta understood too, and gave Courfeyrac a soft smile. “Nice to meet you, Courfeyrac,” she said. “You’re new?”

Courfeyrac nodded, seeming to relax a little bit. “Yeah. I’m originally from Toulouse, but I got a scholarship here for my next three years.”

“That’s cool,” Enjolras and Musichetta both replied in unison before laughing. “Jinx.”

“Well, I ought to go back to my room,” Enjolras said, stepping towards the open door. Musichetta waved him off, calling a friendly, “Classes start tomorrow so make sure to get some sleep!” behind him.

When only Courfeyrac and Musichetta were left in their room, the former flopped down backwards onto his bed with a touch more than the required amount of drama. “He seemed nice.”

“Yeah,” Musichetta mused. “He is. Most people here are.” With another smile, she sat down on her own bed to regard her roommate with interest. “Welcome to _Le Grand Lycée du Paris_ , Courfeyrac.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why is Enjolras so upset about life, Courfeyrac so (initially) nervous, and Musichetta so confused about everything? I don't know. Probably puberty. That's the explanation for everything teenagers do, isn't it?


	3. dinner time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> joly reflects on his messy room and meets his friends for dinner

The bell rang for dinner, startling Joly out of his annual pre-classes textbook readings. He carefully placed the books on his side table, stood up off his bed, and immediately tripped over a pile of clothes his roommate had left lying around. Ugh. Bahorel.

It’s not like he hated Bahorel, or even disliked him. The boy was a good friend— reliable, quick-witted, and always ready to stand up for others. He was just… a total slob, to put it politely. Great person, awful mess. Joly had known him since they were in _cours préparatoire_ together, and he had always been that way. They’d never had to room together before, so it’d never seemed that bad. But, Joly supposed, it was fated to happen eventually.

He carefully made his way around the pile of clothes. And the suitcase lying open on the floor. And the already-overflowing trashbin. They’d been at school for less than one day, and his roommate had practically trashed the room already. They would have to have a talk about that later. But for now, dinner.

The dining room was jam-packed and full of noise, per usual. Most students seemed to know what they were doing, getting into the food line and sitting down in established groups, but, as always, you had the new kids wandering around like they had never seen a cafeteria before. Maybe they hadn’t. Private boarding schools always seemed to attract odd types.

From across the room, Joly saw his friends sitting at their usual table, and headed in that direction.

“Hey there, Joly!” Prouvaire exclaimed as the boy sat between Bossuet and Musichetta. “Have you met our new friend?”

Joly glanced up. He hadn’t even noticed the curly-haired boy sitting across the table, smiling slightly. “Oh. Hi.”

Prouvaire continued, with their regular bounce and enthusiasm. “This is Courfeyrac! He’s roommates with Musichetta!”

“Huh,” Joly mumbled, glancing at the girl to his left, who nodded affirmatively. “Yup. He’s nice.”

“And sitting right here, you guys!” Courfeyrac interjected, getting a laugh out of Combeferre, who sat to his right, buried deep in a novel.

The group fell back into a comfortable silence after that. It’s one of those things that never feels out of place with these friends, Joly mused. Everyone off in their own thoughts together.

Sadly, that silence was shattered with the arrival of a brown-haired boy, who, it was clear, had been cursed with two left feet and a tendency to put his foot in his mouth.

“Excuse me?” he shouted, a bit too loud than necessary. “Have any of you seen a girl with the most beautiful chestnut hair and glorious deep blue ey—”

“Oh, hello Marius,” Combeferre interrupted, looking up from his book. “Still looking for Cosette?”

Marius nodded. “Yeah. Cosette. I was texting her a bunch yesterday and she said she’d meet me over by the lunch line—”

“Well, that sounds wonderful, Marius, why don’t you go check over there again?” Combeferre said as he gave Marius a wide, though slightly fake, smile. “I’m sure you just missed seeing her by a split second.”

The boy bobbed his head quickly and dashed off. Combeferre let out a sigh. “Oh, Pontmercy.”

“Do you not like him?” Courfeyrac queried. “He seemed… okay enough.”

Prouvaire answered before Combeferre had a chance to. “There was a botched presentation on Napoleon last year. Combeferre has never quite forgiven Marius. And that’s the tea.” They shifted their chair closer to Bossuet, propping up on their elbows. “Speaking of roommates, has your incredible Polish transfer moved in yet?”

“No… I’m afraid not,” Bossuet replied. “I was excited to meet him and all, too. Maybe he’s just not coming.”

His friends offered various words of sympathy and pats on the back and remarks on how they’ve heard Polish kids aren’t that great anyway, all snooty and out of sorts.

Bossuet laughs at that last comment. “I’m not all that emotionally invested. If he shows up, great, new friend. If he doesn’t, that’s okay too.”

That starts the conversation spinning off into a deep discussion of both Poland and the varying attributes required in friends. Typical, and utterly wonderful. Joly’s so glad he found this rag-tag bunch of friends. Even if some of them do leave a mess wherever they go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor pontmercy  
> should never have screwed up that project
> 
> also, you guessed it--  
> feuilly!


	4. poland forever!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feuilly arrives, late, to school

Out of all the sights Feuilly was prepared to be greeted with upon his arrival to his new school a day late, a gaggle of students standing in his room shouting out random Polish words, a few being words of the profanity variety, was not one of them.

“Nie mówię po polsku!” a boy with a shaven head was yelling as Feuilly entered the room. Clearly no one had noticed him yet. As soon as they did, they all hushed immediately, and a girl who had been chanting, “Pomocy!” before stepped forward.

“Uh…” she started, before glancing back at the other teens. One of them passed her a slim book, and she frantically flipped through it before looking up at Feuilly. “Czy… Czy mówi Pan po polsku?”

One of the boys behind her let out a muffled laugh. “You just asked the kid from _Poland_ if he speaks _Polish_ ,” he whispered to the girl, who just rolled her eyes.

“Tak. Je parle français aussi. And English,” Feuilly answered. Upon hearing that, no less than half of the group gasped dramatically, before rushing him.

“You’re trilingual!” a kid with red hair and a painfully neon shirt yelled, seeming far too cheerful about the news.

The shaved-head boy from before gave some sort of introduction, saying something about roommates, but Feuilly missed most of it due to the bombardment of absolutely _every_ other person in the room also speaking at once. He didn’t even _know_ people could talk this much.

“Hey, why are all you guys in my room?” Feuilly finally shouted over the din. They all turned to face him and muttered various apologies, though they sure took their sweet time leaving.

Finally, only Feuilly and the boy with the shaven head were left, staring awkwardly at each other.

“I presume we’re roommates? Uh... I’m Cyryl? Cyryl Feuilly?” He paused, and felt his face heat up. “Of course you knew that. It’s probably on your room assignment paper.”

The boy laughed, nodding minutely. “Yeah, it is. I’m Nathan Sylvestre Louis Florian Lesgle. Some variation of that may have been on your room assignment paper. But everyone calls me Bossuet.”

“That’s… a long name,” Feuilly mused. “I’m gonna go with Bossuet. And you can call me Feuilly.” He paused for a second, before quirking an eyebrow at the other boy. “By the way, how’d you get that nickname? Are you such a good orator so as to merit that name?”

Bossuet grinned, now shaking his head. “God no. I’m just from Meaux, and my friends saw some sort of connection there. Plus, it’s much easier to say.”

“Fair enough.” Feuilly stuck out his hand for a handshake, which Bossuet returned. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. And… all those kids that were here earlier, are they your friends?”

The other boy gave a noise of affirmation, ticking off names on his fingers, along with a short description. “Enjolras, the alarmingly blond one. Combeferre, the tall nerd. Courfeyrac, well, we just met him yesterday, but he seems nice enough. Prouvaire, redhead with deplorable fashion sense. Bahorel was around here… somewhere. I heard him cussing up a storm. Uh… who am I forgetting…? oh, Joly. He’s also a nerd but he’s a cute one. And… right, Musichetta. Enjolras’ best friend forever, and also cute. I think that’s it.”

Feuilly listened intently to the list, nodding along and smiling widely once it was done. “They sound very interesting. You’ll have to introduce me properly to them at some point.”

“Will do!” Bossuet exclaimed, popping off a jaunty salute. “But for now, we ought to go to our classes. I hope you have your books, despite being oh-so-fashionably-late. You’ll have to tell me about that later too. A knowledge exchange, perhaps. Introductions for information.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nie mówię po polsku! -- I don't speak Polish!  
> Pomocy! -- Help!  
> Czy mówi Pan po polsku? -- Do you speak Polish?  
> Tak. -- Yes.  
> Je parle français aussi. -- I speak French also.
> 
> Apologies if any of the Polish was wrong.  
> \-------  
> Let's see. I hope this is okay.  
> Bossuet's just a generally chill guy.  
> And Prouvaire, I guess, is constantly excited.  
> \-------  
> Oh hey if anyone wants to read the Wikipedia page about the French orator Jacques-Bénigne Bossuet, Bishop of Meaux, here it is.  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jacques-Bénigne_Bossuet


End file.
